3 Percent Hell, 97 Percent Hot
by Becommissar
Summary: It's late, Beca is stuck in a phone booth with no cash thanks to a certain Australian (or is it Tasmanian?) singer. Her phone is on 3% charge. How much worse can things get? As she is about to find out, much, much worse. Oneshot.


Beca was sat in a phone box, face still smarting from the slap she had received from a drunken Jesse. She fumbled around in her bag for some change, realising she didn't have any rather quickly. "I swear to God if the reason I die tonight is because Amy wanted to buy ice cream and borrowed my cash I will haunt her for the rest of her life," she muttered darkly. She found her phone in her bag. It had 3% battery left. If she was going to get home alive and in one piece, she needed to make this call on 3%.

Shakily, she unlocked it. She swiped to her address book, tapping quickly on the first number that came up. She had to wait for it to ring and ring before she got to a generic answering machine. "Help me," she said into the phone. "I'm on 7th and Fore Street in the phone box. Jesse just beat me up again and I really need a ride. My phone only has 3% battery so I think this is the only call I can do. Please see this before I die. It's Beca." She terminated the call and glanced at the battery. 2%. She tried once more with the same number, hoping that they would pick up this time. They did.

"There is a god!" she exclaimed down the phone.

"Don't worry, I'm on my way. I'm not too far away from you, you can stay here."

"Thanks. There's a bunch of drunk dudes driving past right now and I really hope they don't spot me- oh shit. How soon can you get here?"

"If I really push it, a minute and a half. You sure you're okay, tiny mouse?"

"Wait, what?" she exclaimed. She had phoned the wrong number. Crap. Not only that, but she had phoned the Kommissar. The _freaking Kommissar._ Double crap. "Oh my god I'm so sorry for disturbing-," She was interrupted by the sound – or lack thereof - of her phone running out of battery.

She hunched low in the phone box, avoiding eye contact with the men in the pickup. They jumped out and staggered to the pavement. She sent a message to whoever was listening in the sky that none of them needed to use the phonebox, but apparently after the miracle of someone picking up the phone the gods were not in a generous mood.

The driver stepped inside the phone booth, spotting Beca on the floor. "Need some cash for the phone," he asked kindly. She nodded strongly, standing up. "I-er, I'm sorry, I'll get out of here."

She made for the door, but was stopped by the man's arm. "Hey, whaddya say we have a bit of fun?" As he asked, his hand was snaking up her side to rest behind the small of her back. "I might be able to find some loose change in my pocket then."

Beca shook her head slightly but as she was in such a confined space she didn't exactly have room to go anywhere. Trapped in a fondling kiss with a creepy man she had never met who was clearly aware of what was going on (he was the driver for god's sake) she tried to push away but met only the cold glass of the booth. She mumbled something that was lost on both of them. Tears slowly leaked out of the girl's eyes as she tried to zone out of the situation. It wasn't easy with a man's hand on her breasts, and one snaking down into her underwear. She had known she was not interested in men for many years; yet she knew if she told this man it would only make matters worse for her.

The screech of tyres outside cut her off from her reverie. Seconds later, the door to the booth was pulled open and the tall figure of the Kommissar loomed on the man. "You might want to leave her alone," she said politely. "Else I will phone the police."

"The fuck are you?" The driver glared at the Kommissar and Beca took this opportunity to slip out of his grip and hide behind the taller woman. As soon as she saw Beca was safe, she turned towards her car, hand around Beca's shoulders.

Beca sank gratefully into the seat of the car offered to her by the Kommissar. "Little mouse," she said, sitting in the driver's seat. "Did he hurt you?"

"Well, I mean- he hit on me and made me uncomfortable and- but he didn't actually hurt me physically."

She drove a few blocks before replying. "I understand, mouse. Can I help?" Beca didn't respond.

The Kommissar nodded, focused on driving and letting Beca have a moment to herself.

"Hey, uh, Kommissar, can I ask you something?"

"Of course mouse."

"Your real name, I read somewhere it was Luisa, and elsewhere I read it was Mina, and some places said you didn't even _have_ a name, but I think it's got to be something completely gorgeous." Beca slapped her forehead. "God, I should just shut up."

"It's all right. We are no longer competitiors, ja?"

"I suppose not. So, if you don't mind me asking, what is your name?"

"You can call me Mina, little mouse. We're here. Allow me to take you inside and make sure you are not hurt."

As Beca trailed her inside, she allowed a tiny smile. There seemed to be another side to the Kommissar, and _damn_ if it wasn't sexy.

 **A.N. Just a little oneshot I felt the urge to do. Mäuschen is still being written and produced, but I have two more multi chapter fics in my head (why do I do this to myself) and I need need** _ **need**_ **to get Mäuschen done before that. So, here's something to tide thee over.**


End file.
